My gut feelings are based on the patterns I’ve observed throughout my life, the nuanced interactions, and the subtle cues that paint a larger picture. It’s the culmination of experiences, the time spent with people, the words exchanged, the stories I’ve heard, and the behaviors I’ve seen occurring. Repetition of patterns can shape your instincts. You might not be factually right about everything otherwise you’d become Octopus the Paul, but this blend ingrains a sense of confidence when it comes to sharing your judgments. However, it’s not unfounded arrogance; rather, it stems from a record of rarely being wrong about things you’ve spilled my judgments about. Again, this doesn’t mean you’re always right, but more often than not, your instincts guide you well.

I’m aware that too much confidence can be a problem if you become too comfortable, and I know that being right all the time isn’t possible (that’s why I’m repeating it over and over). It’s going to be a hell of a ride when I start to get things wrong I’m confident about. That’s why, now I’m trying to find a balance—a mix of trusting my “feelings” and thinking critically, being open to adjusting, so I can handle challenges well. Even though I’ve talked about balance, I constantly evaluate things critically. I don’t accept something just because I heard it somewhere, so I’m unsure how that will play out. It’s not that I don’t trust people—I do, but I’m selective about it, and I’m okay with that.

I don’t want my ass to be bitten by a snake because I was cocky enough to rely on the patterns of finding earthworms in the soil after it rains. There are chances, however rare, but these chances exist. The right thing for now is not to poke under the dense grass to find out what’s hidden there. The snake might be resting, so despite its existence, it’s harmless unless you’re being stupid enough to prove to someone (or to yourself because of your paranoia) that there’s no snake.

The problem you might now face is that once you find the snake, you’ll be cautious. The previous one didn’t harm you, but now you don’t know what might happen in the future. It’s very paradoxical because there’s no end to your gut feelings—they come one after another, forming a continuous chain. This is different from overthinking, where you are constantly worried about something twenty-four seven. Gut feelings are based on instinct and past experiences, whereas overthinking involves obsessive concern about every possible outcome. I’m not going by the definitions of these words, but that’s what I “feel.”

I think this is an important factor that differentiates gut feelings from overthinking. For example, if you don’t know how to swim, your gut feeling would scream at the top of its lungs not to jump into deep water because it’s a clear and present danger. On the other hand, your overthinking would scream just as loudly that you’d drown even in shallow water, which is less likely unless you do something stupid.. This distinction is crucial because it helps you understand when to trust your instincts and when to recognize that you might be overthinking a situation.

I rarely find myself overthinking situations. I know how to deal with problems, and I rely on my instincts and experience to find solutions. However, because of this, I often come across as rude. This happens because people sometimes want to hear something different or a sugarcoated version that can give them comfort, even though they are aware of the reality. I prefer to be straightforward and honest, which can be jarring for those who are looking for reassurance rather than a direct answer. This doesn’t mean I lack empathy; it’s just that I believe in addressing issues head-on rather than avoiding the truth.

As I’m writing, I’m also thinking about how I can actually balance things out. I realize that I should be more thoughtful about the words I’m choosing. I cannot be dishonest, but I understand that I need to add sensitivity to my communication. Perhaps I can find ways to convey the truth more gently, without losing the honesty that I value. I guess it’s all about finding a middle ground where I can be both truthful and considerate, and probably that can ensure my words are not only accurate but also empathetic so that I can address problems directly while also being mindful of others’ feelings.

Man, I love repeating myself in different ways. What else can you do when you’re having a conversation with yourself, trying to make sure you understand what you’re thinking?

I think it’s going to be a long, long journey before I feel comfortable enough to trust without worrying about betrayal. I haven’t been betrayed personally, but the time I’ve spent traveling and initiating conversations with random people, listening to their stories—it changes something within you. In my short span of time, I’ve witnessed some of the worst things happening right in front of my eyes. I’m not comparing my experiences to anyone else’s situations since I wasn’t directly affected, but I have seen what I shouldn’t have. There’s more than enough suffering in this world, and when you somehow get to witness it, something inside you dies.

It’s often hard to explain the duality I carry within me. I tend to be naively optimistic about things, yet I don’t feel fully alive, and I wish I could experience remorse. The overexposure due to my curiosity has made me numb. I can see the contrast between how I was a few years ago and how I am now. I get to witness both versions of myself, and I regret losing my innocence along the way.

How does everything I’ve written so far connect to my gut feeling? Unfortunately, it does. I’ve noticed that these themes—feeling naively optimistic, numbness due to overexposure, and a sense of lost innocence—often mix with my gut instincts. They’re closely tied to how I understand things and make choices. However, I don’t feel like continuing this post anymore because it will turn into an endless loop of thoughts trying to outdo each other, so now, I must leave.

Adios